


Gotham's Problem

by greenfairy13



Category: Gotham (TV), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Introspection, M/M, POV First Person, Rorschach's Journal, Rorschach's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24463960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: Rorschach approaches Jim Gordon in a bar and tries figuring out his character. He's not the hero he hoped him to be.
Relationships: Hinted, Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon, Pre Gobblepot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Gotham's Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justsimplymeagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsimplymeagain/gifts).



> So....I really liked writing from Rorschach's perspective. Was a lot of fun. The date I choose is not random. The events of Watchmen start on October 12th. If you like this story, it might escalate into a series. Comments are more than appreciated!

Rohrschach’s journal. September 15, 1985. I’m in Gotham, the country’s most infested city. I can smell them in every corner, the whores, insatiable, dripping, brains clouded from lust. I can hear it in the shadows, the sound of knives being sharpened, guns getting cleaned - another gruesome murder waiting to happen, screams barely muffled by brick walls. 

I can see it - with crystal clarity - this city is doomed, beyond salvation. The inhabitants, they have dedicated their lives to sin, are soft, puppets, useless. This city should not be worth my time, actually, but something changed. I might be able to help, might pull this city back from the abyss, if I only give the right person a little push in the right direction…

He’s not how I imagined him to be, the blonde sitting in the bar. I expected to find a fighter, a man with a purpose, determination, driven by the need to change what has been unmoving in ages. What I find is a drunkard, a weakling, a broken man. Am I too late? Has Gotham already got him? 

I approach the figure sitting at the bar, Jim Gordon, the man who took down the old order. I get a better look, he’s bruised, blood is smeared across his face, his fingers are trembling. Maybe I’ve been too quick in my judgment, maybe it has been a rough day. 

I sit down next to him, order a beer. I don’t usually drink. It lowers my ability to respond, to defend myself. The man glances over, his interest in me is subtle, good. Maybe he is the cop everyone thinks him to be. He looks away, downs another glass of whiskey. I’m disgusted but I show him a small smile. I need to convince him. 

Smiling is weird. You basically flash your teeth at a stranger. 

I order another drink for him. 

“You’re Jim Gordon,” I acknowledge, nodding slightly. The man doesn’t react. Why should he? he knows who he is. 

“I have heard a lot about you. How you change the city,” I add, trying to get his attention. I almost think he’s too inebriated to respond. 

“So what?” he finally asks, slamming down his glass. He’s untamed, I can see that, almost vibrating with anger brimming just under the surface. If I can unleash that rage, guide it, this city might have a chance. 

They say he has a hero-complex, tries being this city’s knight in shining armor. I attempt to flatter him. “I haven’t been here in years,” I share. “It has been too unsafe. Now with the mob gone, the police not being a nest of corruption, I decided to visit again.” 

He doesn’t rise to the bait right away, stays guarded. “So you’re a fan,” he scoffs, sipping his liquor. He must drink frequently. Anyone else should have passed out at this point. 

I shrug. “You have given me hope again. I thought you should know that.” I gesture at the blood on his collar. “You might need to know that, after the day you clearly had.” 

He finally relaxes. I tried sounding kind, compassionate. I must have succeeded. 

Jim looks into the distance, his shoulders slump. I can see how his mouth twitches, contorts into an awkward grin. 

“There’s still so much to do,” he sighs. I nod in agreement. At least the man sees what lies ahead. 

“This city is getting worse, though. Not better,” he mumbles under his breath. I can still hear him. 

“What happened today?” I ask. I know humans mostly want to talk about themselves, they are narcissistic like that. And in my experience, they open up once they are given the chance. 

He remains reserved, I like that. 

I order another round. His hands gripping the glass are shaking. When I ask him again, he finally shares what’s bothering him. 

“There was a murder. Three people dead. We caught the killer.” 

I’ve heard it on the news. The men killed are not worth this strong reaction, have been mobsters, useless scum. They have probably gotten in the way of the Penguin, the imperator of this city’s underbelly. I’ve heard it must have been an especially gruesome crime. It was probably Gotham’s number one psychopath, Victor Zsasz. 

I tell that Jim Gordon. It’s not like this information is a secret. I want to know why these men are still free. 

“Lack. Of. Evidence,” he replies, punctuating each word carefully he pulls a grimace. “Wasn’t Oswald’s style,” he grumbles and this time I have trouble hearing him. I’m surprised a cop calls a gangster by his first name. 

I enjoy the silence in his company. Usually, humans hardly shut up. 

The cop shifts in his seat, readies himself to leave. 

“You should take him down,” I tell him. 

“I’ll try,” he promises. 

I can’t let him go like that. “You’re not trying hard enough,” I accuse him and that does seem to do the trick. His eyes widen, shocked. Ashamed? 

“How dare you…”

I cut him off. “You called him Oswald. I heard,” I confess, pointing at my ears. “No respectable cop should call a gangster by his name. They have lost that right when first spilling the blood of an innocent.” 

Jim spins around, faster than I would have expected after all those drinks. “If you truly think that,” he tells me, “you’re no better than the criminals. Cops play by the rules, collect evidence.”

“You are fighting against men who know no rules,” I reply casually. 

He shakes his head. “You must mistake me for a vigilante.” 

“Aren’t you?” I snap back. “There are rumors,” I tell him, “about you killing Theo Galavan, Fish Mooney. People who can’t be stopped by the law.” 

The cop’s mouth drops open. He crosses his arms, sobers up. 

“You know nothing,” he hisses. “And now I’ll leave.”

I have to play my ace. “They say you favor the Penguin,” I state. “They say you are being soft on him. Wouldn’t arrest him despite the evidence, despite everyone knowing. I don’t believe that. Not after what I heard about your career.”

The man stops, clenches his jaw. If we would be outside, he’d be at my throat. It’s glorious, seeing him like that. Like a lion about to be unleashed. 

“Men like him, like the Penguin, can’t be stopped by playing to the rules. They have to be fought with the actions you have taken against the ones I mentioned. I can help you with that.” 

A muscle in the corner of his mouth twitches. “If you propose killing a man, I will have you arrested.” 

It’s not what I expected him to say. 

“He’s the root of this city’s evil,” I declare. “Orchestrates the murders, the horrors that have befallen Gotham. “You know this place can only be cleansed once he’s removed.” 

The man sways as if my words have hit him. Is it the prospect of victory or something else? 

“I don’t condone murder,” he says firmly. 

“Me neither,” I tell him as I reach for my pocket. Jim’s eyes follow my movement, his hand reaches for the gun attached to his hip. I stop the motion. 

“Have you ever heard about the Watchmen?” I ask instead. 

“A bunch of self-proclaimed heroes,” he snaps back. “Criminals themselves,” he spits. 

I am disappointed. He can’t see it. But I’ll give him one last chance. 

“The Penguin has raised their interest,” I share. “I am here to offer you a chance: fight at their side or go down with the mobster.” 

I thought he would consider my generous offer. 

“I’d rather go down with Oswald,” he states with venom. Here is it again, that name. The way it rolls off his tongue though, I only note it now, this slight hint of longing. I don’t think he knows. 

“If you try murdering someone in my city,” he tells me before leaving, “you’ll have to go up against me first.” There is something in his voice that tells me he’ll have my blood for daring to even try. 

And then I understand. Jim Gordon is stopping Gotham from salvation. 


End file.
